


Logophile

by orphan_account



Series: Supercat Week [4]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Damn I did good, Day 4, F/F, Italo Calvino inspired, Supercat Week, i like this so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supercat Week - Day 4: "So the god waited, and as it waited, existence began to sprawl out from itself. Light came to contrast the endless darkness in which the god had been accustomed to, and the warmth of the stars tickled the god."</p><p>I'm actually proud of this, which is really rare for me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Logophile

Before language came to give meaning to the world, a god had wondered what it meant to be. Of course, the god could not put these thoughts into words, so perhaps it was not truly a thought. But all the same, an inkling of a feeling appeared within the god's consciousness. A feeling that wanted to know what it was to exist.

So the god waited, and as it waited, existence began to sprawl out from itself. Light came to contrast the endless darkness in which the god had been accustomed to, and the warmth of the stars tickled the god. Colors, too, bright and beautiful and beyond the god's comprehension, spilled out of the inky black haze. But still, there was no sound the god could make to express its its awe at the self-created masterpiece.

The god, in its distraction by the unfurling chaos, drifted into a small corner of the universe. In a sea of stars and dust, the god found itself upon a speck. It was, as far as specks went, a beautiful combination of green and blue, although the god still did not have the words to describe these colors. But the sensation of the lapping cerulean was new to the god, and so it decided to stay, rather than drift aimlessly any longer.

So the god stayed upon the little rock and bided its time. It watched as the little sprouts of green grew taller and more complex, until the god could no longer remember what the originals had looked like. 

And after countless cycles around the little star that the god had grown to love, after crossing over the crevices that littered the ground and climbing over the upturned dirt, the god came across a word for the first time. 

"Bark."

It was said by a strange creature, partially covered in hair, but otherwise soft and fleshy. The god watched as two of the creatures went to one of the trees and strip its outer coating, piling it on the ground by their feet. Fascinated, the god decided to follow them. 

The creatures had words for everything. They strung them together in intricate patterns, using them to bring out meaning from the colors and shapes the god had learned to love. 

Over time, the god took on a shape like theirs. When they shed their clothes in exchange for new, the god followed suit, and when their words melded into different shapes, the god learned how to speak those, too. Ancient was its tongue, but never its speech. 

There came a time when the god could describe each thing a thousand different ways in a thousand different languages. Language was precious to the gods heart. 

But then the god had encountered something new, although it struggles to properly define how it differed from the others. A creature that belonged to the race of words, a sculptor of language by trade. 

No matter how hard the god tried, it could never find the proper words. Neither emerald nor jade nor viridescent could capture the shade of her eyes, nor did golden or honey or flaxen give justice to the color of her hair. Language failed to provide an outlet for the way the gods body felt when touched by the adroit wordsmith, or the feelings that spurred deep within the god's chest.

The god would whisper words on occasion, to see if any could match the sheer brilliance of her affection, but they paled in the attempt. The composer of words would laugh and hold the god closer at each and every try.

So the god eventually abandoned the quest, ignoring the nagging sensation in the corners of its mind attempting to urge on the search. Instead, the god focused on the sensation of languid fingertips, supple lips, and smooth valleys of skin.

But the god's life was long and the word sculptor's short, and the revelation of existence faded, left only within the god's memory. Once more, the god was left without the adequate language to describe that which it felt and in the emptiness of its loss, for the god had learned what it was to exist, but had lost all interest in it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I know I'm stretching "Supernatural" and I know this wasn't typical fanfiction format, but this was the only format I was going to be able to write today's prompt as. If you don't get any of what you read, please let me know so I can either explain or apologize.


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